Human
by nabawrites
Summary: Clark is tired of watching Bruce walk around in pain. So naturally, he does something about it.
1. Chapter 1

The Justice League, or a portion of it, at least, had just returned from a very difficult mission. Half the team was in medbay and the half were either aliens or trying not limp. Batman, though a normal person wouldn't know it by looking at him, had suffered more than most. While Green Arrow was human, his archery allowed him to escape a good portion of close range combat. Black Canary had her Cry to keep away someone she couldn't beat up with her fists or staff. The Flash was a metahuman with an increased healing factor. Green Lantern had his shields of energy. Wonder Woman was an Amazonian Princess, and was a lot tougher than she looked. Superman, of course, was fairing the best due to his virtually indestructible skin and super strength and flight ability and all that.

Batman, though..., he had it bad. He didn't have any super powers. Sure, he was fast, and agile, and had really good reflexes. Sure, he was one of the best martial artists alive. But while most of the League could get thrown through a building without getting more than a scratch or a bruise, Batman was human. He could brake, oh so easily.

He was a strong human, the strongest Superman had ever known, but that didn't mean he was indestructible, invincible, or unbreakable. He was human, which meant his skin bruised and bled, his bones broke, his internal organs suffered from the jarring crashes and body throws. He could get concussions, though his cowl partially helped in that area.

Compared to most members of the Justice League, though, Batman was so vulnerable.

He wouldn't admit it of course. Batman had pride, a lot more than most people, and he was determined to carry more than his fair share of the load. He was a leader, a fighter, an ally, a soldier, a detective, a mentor, and he had a secret identity to manage all at the same time. He had to be strong, or he would buckle under all the weight he continuously stacked on his broad shoulders.

Yes, they were broad, but not infinitely so.

Batman had limits, though he'd be the last one to admit or acknowledge that fact. Superman knew it though. He knew it well. He knew just how much Batman suffered after each battle, and yet he was never one of the people in medbay. He always waited until he got back to the Batcave where he'd either patch himself up or let Alfred do it for him.

He never limped. He never winced. He never made a single sound of pain. Yet Superman could hear the almost imperceptible hiss in each breath as his lungs pushed against his shattered ribs. He could hear the broken bones shifting against each other with each of Batman's steps.

After this particular mission, Batman was more beat up than normal. He refused help, though, like always, and went about his business, like always. He never complained. Never said a word about his numerous broken bones, countless bruises, about the mild concussion, or the long jagged cuts along his left leg, abdomin, and left bicep.

Superman was fed up.

Once the debriefing was over and Batman had had his say about the mission, he dismissed everyone. Superman walked up to him and asked if he could speak to him alone for a minute. Being Superman, he could see behind the cowl. He could see the obvious disappointment that he couldn't go home yet. He could hear the minute resigned sigh that anyone else would have missed. It kind of hurt, to make him go through this, but Superman knew it was necessary.

Of course, Batman agreed to speak with him, so they patiently waited for everyone to filter out. As soon as the room was empty, Superman spoke. "Close doors." The doors followed his command, silently sweeping across the floor as they shut. Batman gave him a strange look, but Superman ignored it. He felt something close to rage burning inside him ,and he was having a hard time keeping it under control.

He grabbed Batman's arm, the one with the deep cuts, and used it to push Batman against the wall. Batman was too shocked by the actions and the pain it wrought to fight him off. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did that hurt, Batman? Did it hurt your broken ribs when you hit the wall? Does it hurt the lacerations on your arm when I grip them like this? Are you in pain, Batman?"

The ice in his voice was enough to chill anyone. Batman was Superman's best friend in this world, and he was tired of watching him suffer. "You haven't answered my question, Batman. Does it hurt? Or are you somehow immune to pain?"

Batman glared at him and swallowed tightly. "I don't know what you're talking about, Superm-"

"Bullshit!"

Batman actually seemed surprised at Superman's outburst. He was usually so under control, so calm in any situation. Superman could understand the shocked look that he glimpsed on Batman's face for a nanosecond.

Superman used his free hand to pull off Batman's cowl for him, trying to ignore the barely audible hiss of pain from the man in front of him. "What the hell are you doing, Kent?"

Clark didn't back down. There were no masks between them now. They were Clark and Bruce, not Superman and Batman. He could do this, handle Bruce's temper. "I'm helping you. You are just to stubborn to recognize or accept that help."

Bruce didn't need the cowl to give an impressive glare, but Clark didn't twitch. "Let go of me, Clark."

"Of course, Bruce. But we are having this conversation. Now." Clark released Bruce's arm, his heart twinging at the other man's tiny sigh of relief. With one more scowl, Bruce stomped off to the doors, but Clark spoke before he could get there. "Initiate lock down mode. No one leaves the room." The sound of the doors locking echoed through the otherwise silent hall as Bruce slowly turned around to stare menacingly at Clark.

"Really, Clark?"

He nodded. "Hal, J'onn, Diana, and Barry have all been informed that this conversation is happening. They understand its importance and are prepared to use any means necessary to keep you here until this talk is over."

Clark recognized the look on Bruce's face, knew he was considering trying to fight his way out, and Clark sighed. "Bruce, you're strong, very strong, but right now you are bruised, bleeding, broken, and exhausted. In prime condition it would be nearly impossible for you to beat all of us at once. In your current condition, you'd probably get yourself killed trying. You are Batman, Bruce, so learn how to pick your battles. Sit down and listen to me talk for a few minutes. If you still feel and act the same way when we are done, we will both leave here knowing you are running me into an early grave. Now please. Sit. Down."

With a look that could make the sun freeze over, Bruce grudgingly grabbed a chair and sat down in it. With a small smile that was only slightly smug, Clark pulled out a chair to place it across from Bruce and plop down in it. "Are you prepared to listen, Bruce?"

The billionaire worked his jaw but he nodded. The atmosphere was tense, as were all of Bruce's already tired muscles, and Clark let out a disappointed sigh. "You don't have to be so tense, Bruce. You can trust me, you know that. I promise this won't escalate into any sort of physical confrontation unless you let loose the first blow. And even then, I'll only defend myself. You don't need any more injuries than you've already got."

Bruce huffed, still refusing to speak, but Clark caught some of the tension seeping from the man's muscles. Letting out a long breath, Clark ran his fingers through his hair. He had been thinking about how to approach this topic for a while now, but he was still unsure he knew what he was doing. Deciding now was better than never, regardless of what he said, he plunged ahead.

"Bruce, I'm human." That got his attention. "I'm an alien, yes, but I'm human. I was raised by humans, with humans. I live in a human world, surrounded by humans. If it weren't for a couple physical differences that aren't even really visible, I'd be completely human."

"Being human means that I have human feelings. I feel anger, obviously, and guilt and shame and regret and happiness. But I feel worry too. I, like all humans, worry about the people that I care about. Bruce, you aren't going to like it any way I phrase it, but I worry about you. A lot. All the time. And it isn't because I don't think you are capable, or strong. I don't think you need to be worried about. I don't think you are weak. I think you deserve to be here more than anyone else."

"You are strong, Bruce. You are so strong. When people look at me, they know I'm an alien, so when I get thrown through a couple buildings and get a mountain dropped on my head, they aren't really all that surprised when I come out on the other side without a hair out of place. But you, Bruce, you are human. You are a very strong human, but still human." Bruce made a very unhappy face when Clark pointed that out, so basically, his face didn't really change.

"And yet, you seem to make everybody forget that very fact. When you are leading missions or giving them out, taking on the Joker or dealing with the League's diplomacy, everybody seems to forget that the man under the mask is just that - a man. You make everybody think you're invincible, even when inside your bones are grinding against each other and you've got black and purple bruises covering just about everything. Everybody forgets you're human."

"Except me. I can't forget that, Bruce, because I have supervision. I can see every cut, every bruise, every fracture in your nose and ribs, every torn ligament, all the destroyed cartilage. I see the concussions, the contusions, everything. I see the scars. I see the lines in your bones that mark all the previous brakes. Do you want me to count how many times you've broken each of your bones? Because I could count. I can't forget how human you are, because I can hear every hiss of pain. I can hear the broken fragments of your nose, or knuckles, or ribs scraping and clicking against each other, and it kills me every time."

"It doesn't help me though. It doesn't help me to see all your wounds and injuries. Yeah, it reminds me that you're human. Yeah, it let's me know to be careful when I'm around you so I don't jar your broken ribs or bump into a bruise bigger than my head. But it doesn't really help me to see your injuries, because you don't show your pain. I am virtually invincible, Bruce. I don't know what it is to have those bruises, or those cuts. I don't know what it is to have broken every rib in my body at least seven times. I don't get it. I can't. Seeing the wounds doesn't help me, because I don't actually know what hurts, or how much. It doesn't help me to see. It just makes it worse. I truly understand the whole 'ignorance is bliss' thing. If I was ignorant like everybody else, if I didn't know about the sprained ankle you've been walking, running, climbing, flipping, and kicking with for a week and a half without so much as a brace or a wrap, then maybe I wouldn't worry about you half as much as I do. But that isn't true, because you always worry about the people you care about, no matter what, and I care about you, Bruce."

Bruce was never one to avoid anything. But he avoided Clark's eyes right then. It hurt a little, but Clark understood. He understood not feeling strong enough. He understood having your failures or flaws being examined under a microscope, and Clark knew that's how Bruce felt, even if that wasn't what Clark was doing. Bruce viewed every scar, cut, bruise, and break as a mark of failure, a place where he could have dodged or blocked but didn't.

"Bruce, look at me." It took a moment, but the Knight of Gotham finally met Clark's eyes. "I worry about you - no, don't look away from me, Bruce - I worry about you, but not because you're weak. You aren't weak, at all. You really are so strong, and that's part of why I worry."

Bruce almost looked confused, and a pang of fond affection was felt in Clark's gut. "Bruce, you are so strong. You force yourself to be. You don't give yourself room for weakness or limitations. You don't trouble yourself with necessities like sleep or food or a day off here and there. And it scares me, Bruce, because what happens when the weight on your shoulders is too much, but you won't let anyone help you carry it? What happens when a piece of your ribs chips off and pierces a lung or your heart? Where will that leave the League, and Gotham? Where will that leave your friends? And yes you do have those even if you say you don't. I am a prime example of that. So where will that leave me? Where will that leave Dick Grayson, when his father is dead? He's already lost one. He doesn't need to lose another."

Bruce's seemed to be shocked out of his emotionless facade, because his jaw dropped. He floundered for something to say and Clark actually began to hope this conversation might have some sort of impact, that it might actually make some kind of difference.

"Bruce, you matter. I don't mean that the Batman matters. Of course, he does, but you, Bruce, matter too. There are people who care about you. What about Alfred? The guy practically raised you. He loves you like his own son. You know he would blame himself if you ran yourself into the ground, and he would blame himself for the simple fact that he couldn't do anything about it. You aren't the only one who hates feeling powerless, Bruce, but that's exactly how you make me feel every time you ignore your pain or your injuries. I can't force you to take care of yourself, and even if I could, I wouldn't want to. I want you to want to take care of yourself. Being strong is one thing. Completely ignoring the fact that you have four broken ribs, a shattered nose, a dislocated ring finger, a hairline fracture in your right shin, nine gashes along the left side of your body, and two broken toes is entirely different."

Bruce actually looked guilty. He shifted in his seat, grunting quietly in pain when the lacerations on his leg rubbed against the chair wrong. Clark smiled softly at him before asking a question.

"What's so wrong with being human?"

Bruce's head jerked up to look at him. He obviously had not expected that question. He didn't answer, but Clark wasn't going to let him sit in silence.

"It wasn't a rhetorical question, Bruce. What's wrong with humans? Or being one?"

It took him a moment, but Bruce finally came up with an answer. "Humans are weak. Humans aren't the strongest species. We aren't the smartest species. We aren't the oldest or the wisest. We are young and weak and foolish, but I can't afford to be any of those things. If I want to save Gotham, if I went to help the world, then I have to rise above that. I can't do that as a human."

Clark nodded for a moment before he leaned forward on his elbows with a furoughed brow. "I disagree, Bruce. Being human is hard. It sucks. I know because I tried it. I tried to be human. I willingly lost my powers, to be human, and you know what? I couldn't do it. I couldn't handle it. I, Superman, wasn't strong enough to be human. But humans are. You're right when you say they aren't the strongest species. It's their weakness that makes them strong though, because in spite of everything, in spite of the strength of Humanity's foes, they still prevail. They still come out on top in the end. Humans aren't the smartest either, yet they are constantly growing, learning, invented, and creating. One day, if given long enough, Humanity could become the smartest, because Humanity is capable of growth. They aren't the wisest, and they make so many mistakes. And yet, they learn from those mistakes. They use the instances in which they were weak to teach themselves how to be stronger. And they are young. Humanity is a fairly young species, especially when compared to all the others. But in spite of their youth, they still stand. They still hold their ground. Older species have had so long to learn and grow and get stronger, yet in such a short amount of time, Humanity has grown capable of defending itself against forces of insurmountable might and age and knowledge. I admire humans."

Bruce just sat there, stunned into silence. He didn't respond, so Clark continued. "You, Bruce, are human. The fact that you, a human, can fight along side aliens and metahumans proves that humans can be strong. I admire humans, Bruce, but I admire you most of all."

"You have the power to inspire people, Bruce. You have the ability to make humanity stronger. If nobody knows you're hurt, then they won't think of you as human. But if they know that you get hurt, that you bleed and bruise and brake just like the rest of them, if they know that you push through, that you still stand up and do what needs to be done regardless of the pain, you might just encourage them to do the same. You might prove to humanity that they could be some much stronger than they are, if they only choose it."

Bruce's face simultaneously grew more expressive and harder to read. It was like Bruce was feeling so much and he was revealing it, honestly desplaying his emotions on his face, but there were too many to interpret at the same time. After several minutes of Clark watching some sort of debate rage across his friend's features, Bruce sighed and slumped forward in defeat. "Clark..."

They were the first words he had spoken without bring prompted since the conversation had begun, and he sounded so broken and helpless, like he was hoping Clark would figure it out so he wouldn't have to. Bruce cleared his throat and began again. "Clark, I don't know how. I don't know how to show it. I don't know how to really lean on others like you're asking me to. Every since I was a kid, I've bottled everything up inside and I... Clark, how do I do this? How do I do what you're asking me to do?"

Clark's face lit up in a small smile and he dropped a comforting hand on Bruce's shoulder. "First, you need to find people you trust."

Bruce didn't even hesitate. "I trust you."

"Who else?"

"Alfred. Mostly Dick, but I don't want to burden him more than I already have. The kid has enough on his plate. Diana and J'onn are good friends, and I know they are reliable. Hal and Barry, too. But I trust you and Alfred the most."

Clark's heart skipped a beat when he heard how highly Bruce held him. To be trusted by Bruce on the same level as the man who had basically raised him was a true honor. "Well, once you know who you trust, you need to learn how to let them take care of you."

That earned a heartfelt grimace from Bruce that drew a hearty laugh from the alien. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, you have all those wounds that need to be taken care of, and I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind a break from being your nurse. Let me help you, Bruce. I've already seen the injuries. Let me help them mend."

The billionaire glanced up at Clark before looking away quickly. With a resigned sigh, he sat up straight, looking Clark in the eye. "Alright, Clark. Let's play doctor."

Chuckling at Bruce's choice of words, he quickly went for the medkits, sending the others a quick message that they could go home now because everything was taken care of. Returning with the kit, he sat it down on the meeting hall table and began preparing some of the things he knew he'd need. "Bruce, you'll have to get out of the suit."

Bruce spluttered, trying to come up with a reaction that wasn't mostly embarrassing. Clark let out a deep laugh, giving Bruce a mischievous look. "What? You aren't going commando in that, are you?"

Bruce was beet red at that point, something Clark had never had the chance to see before. "No! I don't... I don't go COMMANDO, Clark!" A few moments passed of Bruce breathing heavily and trying to contain his blush befire the Knight spoke again, stuttering at first. "D-do... Do you go commando?"

Clark couldn't help it. Bruce looked so extremely uncomfortable and yet so genuinely curious. Clark couldn't help but take advantage of it. He threw Bruce a teasing, slightly suggestive, smile. "I'm not telling, but you're welcome to check for yourself any time."

Bruce raised an eyebrow and immediately fell into playboy Billionaire Brucie mode. "Did you just invite me to look in your pants?" The smirk said he was vaguely impressed by his boldness and slightly amused by the flirtatious offer. His eyes on the other hand... they looked quite interested.

Trying to hold back a smile, Clark continued sorting through the kit. "Yes. I believe I did, Mr. Wayne. And I believe the offer extended past merely looking."

Bruce smiled coyly. "Any time, did you say?"

"I did."

Clark watched out of the corner of his eye as Bruce made a show of eyeing his 'assets'. Bruce knew Clark could see his appraisal, and he was quite the performer. That's what playboy Bruce Wayne was after all, a performance, an act he put on for the world.

"I'll consider it. But you should know," Bruce slowly stood up from the chair and sauntered over to Clark. Placing a hand on his lower back, he slipped a thumb under the hem of the shirt of Superman's uniform. Clark's heart skipped and his breath hitched. Were they really going to escalate this? After all this time, was it finally going to happen? "I'm likely to take up any offer. Next time, make sure you're serious."

Clark didn't allow himself to acknowledge the pang of disappointment as he slipped an amused grin on his lips. Bruce backed away and returned to the chair, letting out a faint groan at the effort it took. Raising an eyebrow, Clark looked over Bruce, taking in all the injuries he needed to tend to. "Alright, Bruce. Here's something you should be familiar with. Strip."

Bruce snorted, the action somewhere between his Bruce Wayne facade and his darker alter ego. He removed his gauntlets and leaned over to slip off his boots. He hissed again, obviously in pain due to his fractured shin, broken toes, broken ribs, and dislocated finger, all of which were jostled by the action.

Clark took a second to watch, concern evident on his face. The third time Bruce made a sound of pain, he couldn't take it any more. He walked over to Bruce and helped him slide out of the upper portion of his suit. When he looked down to examine the broken ribs, Clark caught a glimpse of the actual skin. It was black, pure black, with traces of purple around the edges. The bruises were swelling, a lot, and Clark choked on his inhale. "Rao, Bruce." He kneeled down, staring at the abused flesh with a lump in his throat. He didn't even want to think if the gashes that twisted along his side and over across his chest, all nearly a foot long.

Bruce forced a chuckle, trying to play it light. "I know my abs are amazing, Clark, but I didn't think you of all people would be very impressed, considering your own physique."

Clark shot a stern look at Bruce, his hands coming up to lightly trace at the dark flesh. "First of all, your abs would be impressive to anyone, regardless of their own muscularity." Clark ignored the skip in Bruce's heart beat in favor of tending to his wounds. "Second of all, how the hell have you been walking around like this? You should have gone to medbay the moment we arrived, you stubborn bastard."

The smile Bruce gave him was entirely fond, and it warmed a portion of his chest. The rest of it was still frozen over by the sheer enormity of Bruce's wounds and, obviously, his pain. Clark let out a sigh and helped Bruce remove the rest of the suit. Now the man was sitting before him in nothing but underwear.

"Should I take these off too, or would you prefer I leave them on?"

Rolling his eyes, Clark pulled the medkit over and knelt down in front of Bruce's legs, keeping to the side slightly to keep them both from dirtier thoughts. "Do have any injuries under there?"

"Shouldn't you already know, Mr. Supervision?"

"I do."

"Then why are you bothering to ask?"

Clark gave the man an amused smirk. "So you can practice being honest about your wounds."

Bruce huffed and shook his head in irritation, but there was a light in his eyes as he spoke. "Bruises on my left hip, and and a small scatch that I promise isn't even big enough for a band-aid."

Clark gave him a critical look before blatantly staring at the spot on his hip that was covered, taking in the sight of the injury. Bruce shot him an annoyed glare. "If you can see right through them, why do I even bother wearing them at all?"

Clark rolled his eyes. "I can only see through them when I choose, and where I choose." The alien made eye contact with Bruce, looking as genuine as humanly possible. "I would never invade your privacy on that level, Bruce. Injuries are one thing, but that is another. I'm not a perve, Bruce." He changed his voice to something more light and teasing. "Unless you want me to be, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce scoffed, but the corners of his lips turned up in a small smile. "Don't you have a job to do, Mr. Kent?"

That was a cop out. Bruce was deliberately deflecting these situations. Clark wouldn't have given it a second thought, except that he knew Bruce wasn't entirely straight. And he knew Bruce wasn't entirely uninterested, either. Bruce wanted him, of that much he was sure, so why the evasion?

Clark thought he knew why. Today, Clark had made Bruce feel very vulnerable. He had shed light on many things Bruce had tried to keep hidden. He had dragged the cat out of the bag with force, and then with words, and Bruce had had more than enough excitement for one day.

"Yes, I do." Clark grabbed a soft washcloth and dabbed it in a bowl of warm water. He reached over and gently grabbed one of Bruce's feet, the one with the sprained ankle, not the broken toes. He ran the cloth over the skin, cleaning and massaging and kneading the balls of his feet, the heels, and the arch. He took extra care with the ankle. At first, Bruce let out a barely audible hiss of pain, but after a few moments of tender kneading, the hiss turned into a moan of pleasure. Clark did what he could to keep his thoughts pure, seeing as his skin tight suit didn't hide anything in the slightest, but the moans were killing him.

After a few minutes of massaging, Clark grabbed a bandage and wrapped it skillfully around Bruce's ankle and heel so it could heal properly. Clark washed out the cloth so that it would be fresh for the next food and used his laser vision to heat the water again.

When the water was not too hot for application to human skin, he started again with the other foot. The instant he touched his fingers to the Achilles tendon, Bruce clenched his fists. This leg was the one with two broken toes and a fractured shin. Clark knew he would have to be careful, but he hadn't expected such a violent reaction (it was the Batman equivalent of a normal human crying out in pain). He quickly scanned the foot and leg, but he frowned when he didn't find anything knew. Clark looked up at Bruce, searching for an explanation in his eyes.

Bruce immediately shut down all external tells of emotion. He waved a hand at Clark dismissively. "It's nothing. You can continue, Clark."

Uh-uh. No. Clark was not having it. He shot up from his spot on the floor, leaning over Bruce with his hands on the armrests and a knee on thr seat between Bruce's legs. "Bruce, no. Stop hiding. You don't need to, not with me."

Bruce made eye contact, but barely. After a few moments of a silent staring contest, Bruce sighed in defeat and looked down at his lap, their foreheads inches from each other. "It's not really that bad, Clark, I promise. I just got relaxed. I was more comfortable, so my reaction was less guarded. It's no worse than anything else that's happened tonight, and far better than a lot of it." Bruce looked up at Clark, their noses brushing against each other for a second before Bruce pulled a bit away. "I'm fine. Not perfect, but fine. You can continue."

Clark searched Bruce's eyes thoroughly. Batman was a skilled liar, but not skilled enough to fool a guy who could take a professional triage just by looking at him. After a few seconds, Clark nodded and knelt back down, satisfied. Bruce released the breath he had been holding, and Clark gingerly got to work on the other foot.

After gently cleaning off all the dirt, Clark looked up at Bruce. "You have two broken toes."

Bruce gave him a wry smile. "Yeah, you mentioned that."

"I'm going to have to set them."

Nodding, Bruce shrugged. "Do your worst, Doc."

Clark rolled his eyes, but immediately reached for a toe and pulled, not giving Bruce any warning or time to prepare. Once that toe was back in its proper place, Clark moved on to the next one without a second's pause.

Bruce let out a long, even exhale when Clark was finished. Broken fingers and toes are some of the more painful things, along with setting them. Clark knew this from research he had done. It kind of amazed him that Bruce had managed to be completely silent during the process of getting the bones back in place. The only sign of pain he had made was a small wince. Still, the amazement didn't mean he wasn't frustrated. He decided not to say anything this time. He'd work his way there.

Clark massaged the foot for a bit before moving on to the shin. "It's only a fracture, so it isn't too big a deal. I highly doubt you'd let me give you a cast," a quick glance up proved his suspicion, "So I'll have to settle for asking you to move around as little as possible. Sit at home. Don't get up to do anything. Let Alfred take care of you. Don't go to parties to maintain your social life." Bruce was cowling at him, and Clark couldn't hold back the small laugh. "Tell people you broke it spelunking. I don't know. The less you use it, the faster it will heal and the less pain you will feel." Clark ran his fingers up and down the side of Bruce's calf, looking up at him with sincere eyes. "I'm just looking out for you, Bruce."

It took a minute but Bruce finally grunted in agreement. "How long?"

Clark sighed. "You won't listen if I tell you to stay off it for a month, so let's cut to three weeks. But I'm coming to check on you." Bruce glared at him, and Clark glared right back. They each did silent negotiations in their heads. Clark tried again. "How about I come by every week to check, and if you're doing better, I'll let you off early. That better, or are you still going to be a stubborn martyr?"

Clark could see the small smile Bruce was holding at bay. The billionaire nodded his consent and Clark grinned. "Well hallelujah. Miracles still happen." Clark rewetted the cloth and gently massaged first one calf, then the other. Thankfulky, Bruce managed to contain his moans of pleasure as Clark's deft fingers worked knots out of his muscles.

When that was finished, Clark stood up and looked over Bruce, trying to decide where to start next. After a quick consideration, Clark held out his hand. "Give me your hand, Bruce. He one with the dislocated finger." Bruce complied and set the hand in Clark's. Feeling brave, Clark sat on the now empty armrest, facing backwards, and began dealing with Bruce's hand.

As Clark worked, slowly running the cloth over the skin to clean away any dirt or sweat that had accumulated within Bruce's gauntlet. Then, without saying a word, Clark grabbed Bruce's ring finger and pulled to line it up again. When he released the finger, it was straight again, and Clark gave himself a pleased smile.

Gudging by the glare Clark was skillfully ignoring, Bruce was not happy with the lack of warning. Clark was though. In his surprise, Bruce had made a sound of pain. It was quiet and strangled, but it was progress.

Clark smiled smugly as he walked around to Bruce's other side to deal with the two gashes running along his left bicep. Bruce huffed when he saw the smile, but his expression was fond as he watched Clark get rubbing alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, and disinfectant. Clark cleaned the wound thoroughly before applying an antibiotic cream and firmly wrapping bandages around the gashed. "Get Alfred to change these everyday for a week. And try not to get them wet until they've scabbed over. These ones aren't deep enough for stitches, but you still should be careful."

Bruce hummed his understanding, too busy watching Clark to give more of a response. Clark felt his cheeks heat up slightly under Bruce's scrutiny, but he was pleased at the attention. It only confirmed his early thoughts about Bruce's attraction to him.

With a sigh, Clark decided in what order he would deal with the rest of Bruce's injuries. Broken nose first, and then the three gashes on his left thigh. He'd deal with the four lacerations on Bruce's side last, since his broken ribs would make it most painful. Clark grabbed what he need and went in front of Bruce. He kneeled with one knee of the chair and hovered over Bruce. "I'm going to set your nose now." Bruce nodded once.

With a deep breath, Clark placed his fingers on the bridge of Bruce's nose and used all his self control to push the bones back into place without using too much strength and destroying one of Billionaire Brucie's best features. Bruce closed his eyes as Clark set the two nasal bones back in place and he breathed deeply though his mouth. Clark could feel his warm breath ghosting over his chin, and he had to consciously keep himself from letting his breath hitch.

Clark applied the tape that held the nose together, allowing the jaw bone to act as a sort of cast for the nose. Quickly, because he felt like it, he took the cloth and wiped the dirt and grime off of Bruce's face. It was particularly helpful in the places that weren't covered by Batman's cowl. Bruce raised an eyebrow and gave him a dubious look, but Clark just smiled at him and kept going till Bruce was clean as new.

When Clark's hand dipped down to clean Bruce's neck, Bruce let out a contented sigh before he caught himself. He reached up and grabbed Clark's wrist, making him freeze. "My neck isn't dirty, Clark. The cowl does a pretty good job of keeping me clean."

Clark knew Bruce wasn't stopping him because his actions weren't needed. He didn't push. He only looked at Bruce for a moment before nodding and pulling away. "Don't blow your nose," was his reply. "If you get conjested, take a hot shower and breathe the steam in through your nose. It'll help brake down the mucus and stuff. Try not to touch your nose, and breathe through your mouth more often."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "I've had a lot of broken noses before, Clark. My nose still looks exactly the same, so I think I know what I'm doing."

Clark smiled. "I know you've had a lot. I counted. I just wanted to make sure you're being careful."

Bruce smirked. "I'm always careful with my face. It's the money maker."

Laughing, Clark grabbed a stool and carried it over close to where Bruce was sitting. "I need you to sit on this so I can get to your thigh without the armrests getting I can the way."

When Bruce stood up, Clark heard his back and hip pop. He snorted quietly at the sound and Bruce raised a questioning eyebrow. Clark shrugged. "It's nothing, Bruce. I think I only just now realized that you have actually aged some since we met. You don't show it, not really, but it's there." Clark knew he was practically making heart eyes at Bruce, and that, mixed with the goofy, fond smile on his face, pretty much gave away how strong his feelings were for Bruce, but if the billionaire noticed he didn't mention it.

Who was he trying to kid? Clark knew Bruce had seen, had noticed. Bruce noticed everything. He just didn't let on that he knew anything, that he had learned anything. Maybe this was nothing new to him. Maybe Bruce had known for a while. It wouldn't surprise him, considering how perceptive Bruce was and how obvious Clark knew he could be at times. Clark sighed as Bruce sat down on the stool and got what he needed before going an kneeling down at Bruce's side.

Gingerly, Clark washed off the blood with the cloth, cleaned the wounds, and applied some disinfectant. Two of them were shallow enough for just bandages, but one needed to be stitched. He reached over, having to stretch his back to get to what he needed, and grabbed a sterile needle and the appropriate thread. When he leaned back, he noticed Bruce had been watching him, eyes moving up and down his body.

Forcing down the blush that threatened to ravish his face and neck, Clark got to work stitching up the deep laceration in Bruce's thigh. It started at the middle of his hip and curved down and over ending at a spot almost in the middle of the inside of Bruce's thigh. He worked slowly, making sure he did it well. He didn't want to the stitches to rip or come out before the wound was healed.

As he made his way over Bruce's thigh, he had to change positions, moving to kneel between Bruce's legs. Since he was having trouble reaching it, he gently pushed Bruce's thighs apart more and leaned lower so his hands had a better angle. He heard Bruce's heart beat more rapidly. Clark just then released how compromising the position was. He was definitely blushing at that point, but he pointedly stared at the gash on Bruce's thigh, trying to keep his thoughts clean and his lower deck soft.

When the stitches were in, Clark ran his finger along the line to make sure the stitches were firm. He noticed Bruce's breath hitch as his finger made its way down the inside of his thigh, and Clark had to swallow harshly to keep himself from deviating from his course. With a firm nod, he tied off the ends so they wouldn't come out. He placed his hands on either of Bruce's thighs as he stood, pretending he was using them for balance, though he knew that Bruce knew better.

After applying some antibiotic cream, Clark grabbed some bandages and, after only only a moment's hesitation, returned to his spot between Bruce's legs, though he wasn't quite so low to the ground in order to get an good angle. He placed a strong hand under Bruce's thigh and slowly, gently lifted it in the air, using his other hand to deftly wrap the cloth around Bruce's thigh. He allowed his fingers to trail over Bruce's skin, just barely enough that Clark could feel it. Judging from slight bulge that was beginning to develop in Bruce's underwear, Bruce could feel it too.

Once that was done, Clark released Bruce's thigh and went to get the supplies he needed for the lacerations and bruises on Bruce's chest and stomach. He talked as he gathered the necessary items. "Don't get the stitches wet. I'll give you some medical tape to use when you shower, but you still should try to be quick just in case. If you want to be extra careful, though I know you probably don't, or you just don't want to take faster showers, take a bath and prop your thigh up above the water level. That should keep it dry." Clark swallowed after he said that, unable to keep from picturing Bruce in in a bathtub with his leg up out of the water.

Clearing his throat, Clark moved back over to where Bruce was sitting on the stool. He took a good look at Bruce's chest, swallowing down the bile that rose at the sight of him so beaten and bruised, broken and torn. There were bruises covering the entirety of his chest and abdomin, which meant the entire area was one big, black, partially swollen bruise. Four lacerations curved across his body, starting at his side and slicing over half of his chest and stomach.

The highest laceration started about two inches below Bruce's armpit and curved over, running underneath his pectoral muscle before changing paths to head up along the inside of the pec, only a couple centimeters from the nipple. It finally stopped just below the collar bone.

The next one was more flat, going in a straight line, starting right beneath the highest one and cutting across the top of Bruce's 8-pack. It ended a little father over than the others, underneath the right pectoral.

The third was extremely jagged, sharp angles jutting out of the main line, which sliced across his belly button, stopping just on the other side. Judging from thr dark red stains layered over the bruises, it had bled the most before it stopped, probably some time after they returned to the Watchtower.

The fourth was the least deep, but it was still deep enough to need stitches and it was also the widest, as if someone had ripped a stripe of Bruce's flesh off his body. It dipped down lower than where it started just below the line of Bruce's hip bone. It's curve brought it straight across the middle of Bruce's V muscle, stopping a centimeter past the middle of Bruce's body.

All were deep. All needed stitches. The bruises needed attention, because the swelling could cause internal problems. The broken ribs underneath it all would only make things more difficult. The administration of medical treatment, especially for these injuries, needed to be light and gentle. Considering his super strength, Clark wondered for the first time that night if he had the ability to help Bruce. He actually was considering calling J'onn for help when Bruce reached out and lightly grabbed his wrist.

"It's okay, Clark. I can take it. And you are more than capable." Clark looked up at Bruce's face, searching for any sign of nerves or fear. He didn't find any. "I trust you, remember?"

The tips of Clark's lips curved up as he nodded. Taking a deep breath, Clark made an executive decision. "I can't do this here."

Bruce's eyebrows furoughed, just enough to be noticeable. "Why not?"

"Sitting will make things more difficult. The stitches would be stretched to much the moment you stood up or lied down to sleep. It just... it won't work out well. Besides, it isn't a very good angle to do what needs to be done."

Bruce cocked his head to the side. "So then what?"

"Medbay. Everybody's cleared out by now. Hawk Woman is on monitor duty, but that's no where near medbay. Nobody else is here. If you can lay down on one of the beds in there, then I can do this properly."

Clark internally winced when Bruce hesitated, but he let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding when Bruce finally nodded. Clark gathered the stuff he needed to bring while Bruce forced himself to his feet. When Clark was ready, he turned back to Bruce and, after a moment's hesitation, gave the billionaire a teasing grin. "You probably won't let me carry you there, will you?"

The glare Bruce gave him was answer enough.


	2. Chapter 2

They walked to Medbay, Clark purposely going slower so Bruce would keep pace and not strain his mending legs more than necessary. Bruce knew this, Clark could tell, but he didn't say anything. Probably because he was secretly thankful.

Reaching Medbay, Clark set down the stuff he'd been carrying and 'helped' Bruce lay down on one of the beds. Clark quickly got the cloth and dipped in more warm water and began to gingerly wipe the dried blood from Bruce's body. As more if it flaked and scraped away from the skin, the wounds became more obvious. By the time all the blood was gone and Bruce's chest and abdomen were completely bare, Clark couldn't decide if he wanted to vomit or cry. He closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly, and sighed.

He was already on his knees beside the bed, but if he hadn't been, he might not have been able to stand. His head dropped down and he rested his forehead lightly on Bruce's clothed hip. "You never flinch."

Bruce shifted slightly. "What?"

"You never flinch, Bruce. When you get hit, kicked, thrown, stabbed... it doesn't matter. You never flinch. You might grunt. You might take a step back to regain your balance. But your face never changes, as still and expressionless as your mask. You never flinch."

"Clark... I-"

"I suppose it doesn't matter though, that you don't flinch. Maybe you just aren't capable. Maybe you've trained yourself not to. Flinching isn't something you think about though. It's a natural reflex. It's just something you do. But you don't. And that's okay, I guess. Because I flinch for you."

Bruce began to sit up. "Clark-"

"It's okay, Bruce." With a gentle hand on his shoulder, Clark coaxed him back down. "I don't mind doing it for you. Every time we fight together, whether it's a mission for the League or I need help and you come and save my ass, every time I'm around you in a fight, every time I see you take a hit, I flinch. It always takes every ounce of my self control to keep myself from going and helping you, to keep myself from trying to fight your fights for you. And it's not because I don't think you can handle it. It's because I don't want you to have to. I know you can take the broken bones and the bruises and everything else, because you've been doing it for years. But you shouldn't have to. You don't deserve it. But I know you'd be furious if I tried to intervene, so I don't. All I can ever do is flinch. So, I flinch."

"Lex noticed that time you helped me fight him and his goons. He started teasing me about it, taunting me about my unrequited love for The Batman," Clark heard the hitch of Bruce's breath, but he ignored it, "and I think he's been telling people, because other villains I've fought have done the same thing. Or maybe Luther hasn't told anyone and I'm just that obvious. I don't know which. I don't care which. I just think it's odd that it doesn't bother me that they know how I feel about you." The increasing rate of Bruce's heart was thundering in his ears, but he pushed it away. "Why should it upset me when people know how I feel about you? Loving you isn't something to be ashamed of, so why should I get angry over it? Why should it bother me when they go on and on about how you'll never love me back? I'm not a particularly needy person. Being around you, working with you, it's enough. I don't need any more than this. I can't- I won't, ask for more. This is enough. So why should they bother me? Why are they surprised when they don't?"

Clark cleared his throat and quickly stood. "I'll get the rubbing alcohol."

Clark went to get it, and he was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't hear Bruce get up. When he turned around, the only thing that stopped him from bumping into Bruce was his superhuman reflexes.

Clark didn't say anything. He didn't move. He just stood there, staring at Bruce. Clark refused to shy away, to avoid eye contact. He had meant what he said, that he wasn't ashamed of loving Bruce. If he didn't care that Lex Luther knew, it sure as hell didn't bother him that Bruce knew now too.

Searching Bruce's eyes, Clark let out a barely audible gasp. The emotions swirling around in the billionaire's eyes... Clark didn't know what to think or do or say, so he just stood there, drinking in the sight of the feelings being expressed on Bruce's face. Affection. Fondness. Relief. And... hesitation.

Bruce swallowed thickly before he spoke. "Clark..." The Dark Knight seemed to be at a loss for words. Slowly, as if giving Clark time to stop him, he reached up a hand and traced Clark's jawline. "Clark, I-" he sighed, refusing to meet the Kryptonian's eyes, just watching his finger trace the shape of Clark's jaw. "Your advances are not... unwelcome, Clark. I.. I want you to- to say things like that and do things like that, but..."

Clark swallowed, waiting for the inevitable rejection for whatever reason Bruce came up with.

"Clark-" Bruce's voice broke on the name, and Clark brought his hand up to gently grab Bruce's. Bruce made a quiet sound of frustration. "Apparently I'm not good at any of this stuff because I can't figure out how to say what I'm trying to say."

Clark chuckled and gave Bruce a fond smile. "How about you just say it like it is without worrying about being eloquent or hurting my feelings or something?"

Bruce rolled his eyes but the corners of his mouth turned up. "Sounds like a plan, Boy Scout." He tore his eyes away from their hands to look Clark in the eyes. "Clark, I love you. And that doesn't make any sense because I keep hurting you. I'm not supposed to be able to do both at the same time, hurt you and love you, but I do. I shouldn't. I don't-" he swallowed and Clark drew in a shaky breath, unsure of where exactly Bruce going with this. Clark would have been more than happy if he had just stopped after that first sentence, but he quietly waited for Bruce to finish.

"I don't deserve to love you, Clark. I don't. I'm not good enough for you. Because even though I love you, I won't act like it. There will be a couple rare moments like this one where I let down my guard actually say it out loud, but most of the time, I'll be difficult. I'll push you away, and ignore you, and I won't tell you that I love you as often as I should, and I won't show you with the way I act either. You deserve so much better, Clark. You deserve someone who will tell you how amazing you are every morning, who'll be there when you go to sleep and still be there when you wake up."

Clark smiled softly at Bruce, gently squeezing his hand, but Bruce wasn't done yet. "You deserve someone who isn't broken like me, who doesn't have so many nightmares, who isn't as dark I am. You deserve someone who didn't spend two years trying to find a way to kill you. You deserve someone with less baggage to carry around and more love to give. I can't be that for you, Clark. I can't be what you deserve, because I will never be good enough."

Clark felt tears in his eyes, but they weren't from sadness. He shoved them back and replaced them with a loving smile. "Bruce..." He raised a hand to cradle the billionaire's head and leaned their foreheads against each other. Bruce closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh. "Bruce, you are more than enough." Bruce's eyes opened again, searching Clark's for an explanation of that statement. Clark smiled and obliged.

"I already told you that just being around you is enough. Do you think I would love a man that wasn't enough? Having you love me back... its almost too much. You are everything I could ever want, everything I could ever need. I love you, Bruce. All of you. Broken pieces and nightmares and distant personality included. I didn't overlook anything. I know you are broken and hurting in ways beyond the physical. With everything you've been through, I'd be more worried if you weren't affected by it.

"I know about the nightmares. I have your heart beat memorized, Bruce. I know each time there is the slightest variation. In the late mornings, when you're back from patrol and you've been asleep long enough for the deeper dreams, I hear your heart beat pick up every time. The first time I noticed, I rushed over to your house only for Alfred to tell me what was going on. I want to be there for you, Bruce. I want to be able to hold you and comfort you. I want to be there when you wake up to remind you that the dream is over, and I want to be able to help make your reality a bit better than your nightmares.

"Bruce, I know you aren't the easiest person to love, but I've gotten a lot of practice at loving you the last few years. I know you're a difficult person, Bruce. Believe me, I do, but I love you anyway. I'm not asking you to change. I'm just asking you to let me in, let me be there. I love you, Bruce. You. Not the Batman. Not Billionaire Brucie. You."

Bruce just stared at him in awe, still processing everything that had just been said. Letting out a faint chuckle, Clark turned his hand that was grasping Bruce's so he could intertwine their fingers. Bruce seemed to finally wrap his head around everything and he took a step closer to Clark, resting his free hand on his waist.

They were already so close, foreheads touching and lips inches away from each other. If Clark leaned in only slightly, he knew he'd be kissing Bruce. The thought sent a thrill through his body. Kissing Bruce... he'd wanted it for so long. He thought about it, about Bruce's lips, soft, yet chapped from the fight. About how he would taste, and how he would actually kiss him back, and how Bruce would be absolutely amazing at kissing because practice makes perfect, and-

Clark didn't kiss Bruce.

Bruce kissed Clark.

It wasn't what Clark thought it be. His lips were both chapped and soft, and Bruce did kiss him back, and he really was good at it, but it still wasn't how Clark thought it would be.

Clark had figured that a guy like Bruce would like it rough, passionate, and forceful. This kiss was still passionate - oh so passionate - but it wasn't hard and strong with teeth clacking together and lips swelling from bruises, each trying to crawl into the other's body by pushing as close and possible to the other. It was soft and slow and so very sweet. It was a loving kiss with all the emotions both Clark and Bruce hadn't communicated vocally being poured out into the other's mouth. Clark had assumed Bruce would try to eat him alive, devour him in a minute. That's not what Bruce did.

What Bruce did was pull him into the sweetest, most loving kiss of Clark's life, each slide of lips against lips turned into their own personally way of saying, "I love you," over and over again, repeating it like a mantra. What Bruce did was claim Clark, calling him his, while still telling Clark that he owned Bruce just as much. Total, mutual ownership, of body, mind, soul, and heart. This kiss was the communication of that, of each of them declaring their love for the other and rejoicing in that declaration.

It was beautiful. But it didn't last forever.

Eventually, Bruce had to breathe. Kryptonians could go longer without breath than humans, but that didn't mean Clark gasped any less than when they finally pulled apart. Clark couldn't help but stare wide-eyed at Bruce, captivated by the man panting heavily before him. "Whoa," he whispered breathlessly, his nose lightly skimming along Bruce's.

"Whoa," Bruce agreed, lifting a hand to run it through the hairs at the nape of Clark's neck. Suddenly, Bruce's eyes turned heated with lust. He smirked. "You know, Mr. Kent, if that offer is still on the table," he slipped his other hand down from where it resting against Clark's lower back so that the tips of his fingers just barely slid under the edge of Clark's pants, "I would love to find out if you go commando in this thing."

Clark groaned in anticipation. Bruce chuckled and nipped at the skin along Clark's jaw, though his hand didn't go any lower yet. "I wouldn't be surprised if you've got nothing underneath. This suit is so sinfully tight, I'm not sure anything would fit under it." Clark swallowed thickly, feeling his arousal become a bit more painful. "I'm not sure my hand would even fit down there. I suppose I'd have to just take them off completely, wouldn't I?"

Clark nodded swiftly before pulling Bruce back into a kiss. This one was definitely much harder than before. It wasn't long before Clark's tongue was sliding past Bruce's lips and into his mouth, exploring the inside of his lover's cavern.

In the fervor of their kiss, each forgot to be more gentle. Clark's nose grazed Bruce's broken one not too gently, and Bruce was unable to conceal his grunt of pain when Clark simultaneously moved a hand to grip his hip, his thumb accidentally dragging against one of his gashes.

At the sound of Bruce's grunt, Clark swiftly pulled back. "Damn it." Bruce opened his mouth to reassure him, but Clark spoke again first. "I was just going on and on about not be able to forget your injuries, and here I am, forgetting your injuries."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "You're a Drama Queen, Boy Scout."

Clark rose an indignant eyebrow. "Yes, I am. And now I'm a concerned Drama Queen. Get back on the bed, Bruce. I better finish with your gashes before they start bleeding again."

The expression on Bruce's face was probably the closest he could get to a pout without going full Brucie mode. "But Clark, now I'm all hot and bothered."

Clark didn't move.

"Come on, you can't deny Batman an orgasm."

It was really hard for Clark not to react to that, but he wasn't the Man of Steel for nothing.

Bruce tried again. He leaned his head up and kissed him. No reaction. He nipped at the spot on his neck where his pulse was. The slightest shiver, but nothing else. He licked along the shell of Clark's ear, whispering, "I've wanted you so long, Clark." Another lick. "Come on, baby. Take me."

Clark swallowed thickly, but he didn't move.

Bruce must have come to the conclusion that Clark wasn't giving in, so he pulled away with a sigh. "Really?"

Clark tilted his head to the side in mock confusion. "Sorry, Bruce. I guess I just thought you would want my A-game." Clark trailed a hand down the uninjured side of Bruce's body until it was just below his underwear, then he slipped his fingers up under the seam. "I can't really bring it on when I'm more focused on not hurting you."

Bruce opened his mouth for a moment only to close it a second later with a huff and a roll of his eyes. "Alright, alien. You win this round."

With a smug smile that Clark tried and failed to hide, he guided Bruce back over to the bed and had him lay down again. Bruce's hard-on was painfully obvious in that position, his thin underwear doing nothing to hide it. Clark didn't fight the desire to stare at it for a moment, humming in delighted contemplation. Bruce gave the most subtle roll of his hips as Clark watched and the billionaire smiled wolfishly when he saw Clark's own errection through his suit.

Clark was standing close enough to the bed for Bruce to reach. He hadn't realized what a mistake that was until Bruce's hand trailed from the back of his calf, up to the back of his thigh, around the outside, and up to the side of his hip. "Did I ever mention," Bruce spoke lazily as he drew random patterns into his hip, "how much of a turn on your suit has always been? I've been fighting off boners for years now." Clark shivered as Bruce's hand moved over until it was tracing the tent of Clark's arousal, unsurprisingly making him harder. "All those muscles beautifully displayed. Your thick cock perfectly outlined..."

Clark growled at the words. He swiftly leaned over and pressed a harsh kiss to Bruce's lips. Bruce continued to feel his errection as Clark shoved his tongue in his mouth. It only took Bruce's hand sliding between his legs to trace a line to the area where his hole should be for Clark to come to his senses, maybe a minute or so later. He pulled away quickly and grabbed Bruce's wrist, pulling his hand away from his cock. "No fair, Bruce. Playing dirty isn't very nice."

Bruce smirked. "Life's not fair, Clark."

"No, its not," Clark agreed smugly. "I'll have to teach you that lesson, won't I? Suppose I'll have to punish you."

Bruce face seemed to light up at the prospect. "And how do you intend to do that?"

As he took a minute to think, Clark trailed his free hand over Bruce's pecs, fingers playing with his nipples till they were firm beads. "Well for starters, I'm going to make you wait until you are completely healed. Any orgasms you have in the next two months will not be my doing." Bruce raised a dubious eyebrow, as though he doubted Clark's resolve. "Not directly, at least. I have a feeling you'll be jerking off to thoughts of me several times, and very soon." He trailed his fingers down to Bruce's cock for a moment and leaned down to flick his tongue at one of Bruce's nipples.

"Wouldn- wouldn't be the f-first time." Bruce was struggling to speak through the gasps of pleasure as Clark gently palmed him. "If you aren't going to make me cum, what exactly are you doing right now?"

Clark smirked. "Teasing you. It's another part of your punishment."

Bruce glared at him. Clark palmed him harder. The billionaire let out a quiet moan. After a few moments, Clark removed his hand and stood up, smiling smugly at how utterly debauched Bruce already looked. He walked over and grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol that he'd dropped in surprise when Bruce said he loved him.

"This will probably be the more painful set of wounds to be dealt with, but don't worry, darling. Afterwards, I have to apply some anti-inflammatory cream to your chest and abs," Bruce seemed to perk up a bit at that. Clark gave him a predatory grin. "I intend to make that as sexy as possible." Bruce moaned slightly as Clark moved back over to the bed.

He went through the process of cleaning the wounds and making sure they wouldn't get infected. After ensuring the wounds were properly prepared, he began stitching them up, quickly, but gently. Bruce didn't make any noises, but his eyebrows twitched in discomfort. Clark figured that was close enough to a flinch.

Once the stitches were in properly and everything else was done, Clark applied some medical tape to keep them from getting wet. He decided to wait to wrap some bandages on him until after he'd applied the cream to help with the swelling.

Clark took his time putting everything he'd used away before getting the cream. He sauntered back to Bruce and kneeled down on his knees beside the bed so he could see what he was doing. He didn't want to cause any unnecessary pain by rubbing against any of the gashes. Clark played up the whole teasing game by staring longingly at the tube of cream. "If only it was lube I was applying to your body."

Bruce caught a strangled moan in his throat, giving Clark a meaningful glare. The alien only chuckled and squirted some cream onto his fingers. He very carefully began to apply the cream to the area of swollen flesh around the lacerations in Bruce's side. He was extra gentle as he traced the lines of muscles along his side and up onto his pectoral muscle, really working to massage the cream into the skin around the nipple. Bruce couldn't control his vocal cords anymore, and he gave faint moans every time Clark's fingers brushed against the firm, dark nub.

Concealing a smirk, Clark leaned over and swirled his tongue over his pec before allowing his lips to latch onto the nipple. He sucked for a moment between nips, then he slowly pulled off. "Yep, I think the cream has been thoroughly applied there. No traces left on the skin."

He got some more cream on his fingers and ran them down from the nipple of his pec to the line of his V-muscle, skipping over the cuts. He kneaded the cream into his hip and V-muscle, fingers slipping slightly under the waistband of Bruce's underwear. He then worked his way back up, gently massaging the trail of cream he'd left behind into the skin.

Clark lowered his head to lick a line from the pec, over the gashes, down to the band of Bruce's underwear, leaving gentle kisses and loving nips in the skin as he went. When he reached the band, he hooked a finger under it and pulled it back some, just enough for his lips to trail along the V-muscle. He didn't go far enough to touch or see Bruce's hard member. He merely sucked a love bite into the skin of his hip before pulling back and readjusting the waistband back to it's proper place. "That spot's good too."

Now that Clark was done with the left side he wouldn't have to be so careful. Most of the bruising and broken ribs were on the left. Bruce's right side had actually gotten off pretty easy compared to the left. Didn't mean it wasn't still mostly black and terribly swollen, though.

Clark went through the process of rubbing the cream in, doing it as sensuously as he knew how. The moans coming from Bruce were obviously being exaggerated in an attempt to get Clark to give in. Knowing this, Clark made sure to do what he could to make those moans genuine.

After a few minutes of rubbing, massaging, and teasing, with a few kisses thrown in between playing with Bruce's nipples, Clark was finished. Clark knew Bruce couldn't go home in the Batsuit. It would be too painful to put on, not that that would stop Bruce, and it was really torn up.

So Clark convince Bruce to get a zeta beam right to the Batmobile. Clark would take Bruce straight to the Batcave, get him upstairs so he could sleep, and then tell Alfred about the deal he made with Bruce. No going on patrol for two weeks, a check up once a week, and staying out of Gotham limelight for a month. Dick would do patrols, with minimalistic assistance from Clark (Bruce still didn't metas in Gotham).

Once Clark told Alfred and Dick about how things would be going for the next few weeks, he went back to Bruce's room by on say goodnight. Bruce was sitting up with his legs hanging over the side, his toes playing with the carpet.

Clark chuckled and walked over. "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"

Bruce shrugged. "Knew you'd come to say goodnight." Still sitting, Bruce wrapped his arms around Clark's waist and pulled him closer, burying his head in Clark's stomach. "You sure you can't stay?"

Clark smirked. "You're still being punished, Bruce."

Rolling his eyes, Bruce huffed. "I meant just to sleep, Boy Scout."

"You know I have to go back to Metropolis." Clark carded his fingers through Bruce's hair, a sigh escaping his lips.

"Hmm. Figured. I'd have said the same if our situations were reversed."

Clark chuckled. "I know." Bruce scoffed, but Clark felt him smile against his stomach.

Clark pulled away and helped Bruce lie down. He put his forehead to Bruce's and closed his eyes for a second reveling in the moment of closeness. "I love you."

"Hmm, love you too." Clark opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow. Bruce snorted at Clark's expression.

"Are you high on blood loss or something?"

"Nope." Bruce popped the 'p'.

"Yes, you are. You're high on something at least. Does loopy gas work on Batman?"

"Don't know. Never had it before, because I have naturally perfect teeth."

"Show off."

Bruce's eyebrows raised into his hairline. "Clark, you have perfect teeth too."

Clark sat up straight. "Oh yeah."

Bruce chuckled. "Goodnight, Clark."

With a last kiss on the forehead and a loving smile, Clark stood up and walked to the door. "Goodnight, Bruce."

Bruce was already snoring before Clark had left Wayne Manor. Clark spent the rest of the night listening to Bruce's steady heartbeat. As he watched the sun rise in the distance of the Metropolis sky, Clark chuckled and shook his head.

That man was going to be the death of him.


End file.
